Ray Doyle slid off the slipwalk with the careless ease of a man who had ridden the city 'walks all his life. Considering his mood, it was extremely fortunate he had developed the ability to exit the line without thought. His eyes were open, but he did not see. Hunching his shoulders, he strode off down the ramp. He was a good Pro, and even while he was absorbed in his own misery, he still was aware of the crowd around him. Everyone seemed to be following the laws, moving in and out of the buildings in orderly fashion.

Once out of the line himself, Doyle strode along at a good pace. He had exited two sections before destination, unable to project the neutral face which good manners suggested be worn by those pressed close to others on the slipwalks. Ray Doyle was mad, he was hurt, he was confused, he was filled with black energy, and he wanted nothing to do with his fellow man, and even less to do with the female of the species.

How could she do that? As he moved along the treeway Doyle conjured up Ann's face as he had seen it last. Her hair wrapped up in a fashionable turban, her high cheekbones and pouting lips highlighted in glittering face paint, and wearing her best tunic, she had met him at the door to her flat and told him the bad news. She had not softened it, or let him down easily, nor had she invited him in where he would have had privacy to react to her impossible news. She had stood in the doorway, blocking him from her home as she said the words which locked him out of her life. At least she had not kept him in suspense. She had said it at once.

"I can't marry you," she said, using the old fashioned word. Her way of speaking had always entranced him; she had the vocabulary of a Higher.

He had misunderstood at first. "Is it a client?" he asked. "I'll wait," he said. But she did not step aside, or even look at him.

"No, it's not a client." Ann worked at a cultural center, matching clients with art and literature. Doyle had a framed bit of poetry on his own wall which had attracted him strongly the moment Ann had shown it to him. She was good at her job. He was thinking about her job as she spoke. He didn't want to hear what she was saying.

"I did not go." she said it flatly, quickly, without looking at him, and, her hands curled as if she were trying to hold onto something--or crush it.

"You didn't go? To the Civil office? But we don't have much time! The shuttle leaves for Mars in only six hours!" Running a hand through his brown curls, Doyle stared at his fiancee with wide eyes. He noticed as she bit her lip, and as a natural color flooded her cheeks. She was emotionally upset, he realized, but maintaining the appearance of control. Just as if he were some stranger on the 'walk, and not the man she had agreed to match!

"I...couldn't go. Please understand, Ray! I didn't sleep at all last night, thinking about it. We're no match, Ray, you must see it!"

"Pre-match jitters?" he said kindly, reaching forward to pull her into a kiss, despite being in the corridor. Her shoulders were stiff under his hands and she stepped back.

"No. It's not just nervousness. I didn't get the form, Ray, because it would not have been right. We don't have the same background, the same interests. I wish I had discovered this before, I feel quite bad about it. What we had together was so marvelous, I wasn't able to see how things really were."

Translation. Her father had influenced her. Convinced her that she could do better than match with a lowly Pro, even one who had reached Level 5. Her father had been the only reservation Ray himself had to the match. His nose told him the older member of the Holly family was not a respecter of laws. Perhaps even one of the uncaught. But his daughter was unlike him, bright and honest and fun to be with, and so he had ignored his instincts. Oh Ann! His Ann!

"Ann..." he said, her name echoing in his head. "Ann, I filed a permit. It was all agreed weeks ago, and we had the announcement party...."

"I am sorry, Ray! Truly, I didn't intend to mislead you! I think you are a fine man, and a wonderful lover! But I need more!"

More. "More?" Ray was still in the corridor, she had not moved aside, so he was forced to keep the polite face on and his voice low, even though he wanted to shout at her.

"Oh, let's not go into it, Ray! Let us not part harshly! I can't match with you!"

"Ann...." even as he said her name she was stepping back, the door was shutting. "Ann!" He pressed the panel spot again and again, but she did not answer the door. Eventually he stopped trying, and leaned against the wall. Her corridor panel was done in Summer Sun pattern, the lovely colors melting into each other, blending and separating in a slow coil. He knew he could never see that pattern again without thinking of her, and of this sick feeling inside him.

Eventually he left, walking down the corridors for hours, and then going up to the treeways and walking in the open air while trying to sort himself out. He thought of going home, but all his friends lived on his corridor, everyone knew he was to match today and leave on his honeymoon trip. Mars. Ray hadn't had any desire to see Mars, but it was 'the' place to go on a wedding trip this year. He had wiped out half his savings to pay for the tickets. They could be turned in, but only for part of the value at this late date. Unless there was a stand-by traveler who would buy them off him, he was out of luck.

So eventually, Ray made his way to the port office. He was toying with the idea of going on the trip anyway. He'd never been off planet, after all. If he went, he would not have to face his friends, his co-workers. Sympathy, teasing, kindness, cruelty. He couldn't endure it. Yet he did not go to his flat and collect his bag, and he was not seriously thinking of going through with it. Wishful thinking, escape. Better to turn in the tickets for whatever could be retrieved and go up to the islands for the months he was scheduled to be off. Find a lady to dally with, fuck himself senseless until he forgot every feature of Ann's face, that's what he should do!

The port office was busy, filled with the low murmur of travelers and those who had come to meet them. Doyle went to the terminals, checked the status of his shuttle to the moon, and of the ship out to Mars. The Mars ship, The Geode, was booked full, he noticed. Good, then maybe there would be someone who wanted a berth! He registered that he had two available, and sat down to wait for his number to be paged.

It was a pleasant place to wait. The green plants, which were found everywhere in the city, were placed either very high or very low and he could see most of the crowd. He watched the flow of humanity. Couldn't help it, really. Protectors learned early to seek what was different, to watch the pattern of the pedestrians and do what they could to make sure there were no disruptions. Upon rare occasions, he also had the job of stopping a crime, assisting at accident sites and acting as a medic. A Protector had a varied, busy day, maintaining the corridors of the city. Ray Doyle liked his job. It gave him enough credit to live a good life, enough free time to enjoy his credit, and enough challenge in his day to keep his sanity. He liked his mates on the job, and even liked his superior,

it was work he was thinking of when he first realized something was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye he saw--something. There were people moving too fast on the slipwalk. A jostle, a sharp exclamation abruptly cut off, and Doyle was alert and up on his feet, moving towards the far exit. The man who blocked the way looked very ordinary, but Doyle's instincts said the man was a Con. He had the fast eyes of a man who had been in trouble more than once, maybe even been caught and had to put in time at the Adjustment Center.

The Con was scanning the crowd, looking for someone. A Protector approached, and Doyle watched the man receive the warning for slowing the flow of pedestrians. The man nodded politely and moved off. Doyle was not satisfied. His gut feeling said the man was up to something. Something....

It was the loose cloak he decided, as he watched the man stride away. Cloaks were almost out of fashion, and only older men and women wore them this season. Anything could be hidden in those folds, even a spang gun, or knife. Alert, Doyle found his eye on another man at the far door, and a woman at the counter. All of them looking for something. Something they wanted very, very much?

The loudspeaker called for the line for his shuttle flight. The flight he would not be on. Doyle frowned, and moved in that direction. It was a good place to see what was going on, for the line would form on the ramp, and in line he would be able to see over the heads of the people. Constantly watching, Doyle joined the end of the queue and moved forward with it, intending to step out of it at the doorway where the tickets were verified by the laser and each body was checked for contraband. There he would produce his ID, and be able to stay in the advantageous position while the rest of the people filed by.

The man four spaces in front of him gave his space to the pregnant woman standing behind him, earning a polite smile and a warm glance. It was only when the gentleman yielded his place to a stout businessman as well that Doyle focused on him.

Handsome man, in spite of the drab tunic of grey and brown he wore. Or was he? Doyle looked again. The man wore a privacy collar, and his features were gently distorted. It didn't flatter his smooth cap of dark hair or his blue eyes. The tunic was cut in the loose style favored by those who had a few pounds to hide. In spite of that, Doyle had the impression that this man had muscles under the tunic instead of softness. One by one the man traded places and the line was adjusted until the man was just in front of Doyle.

"Do excuse me. I'm waiting for a friend. Would you like to go ahead of me?" the tall man said politely.

"No," said Doyle, and watched consternation flash in the stranger's eyes, although it was quickly hidden. Doyle did not especially want to reach the head of the line himself.

"I truly don't mind," the man said, with just a trace too much kindness in his voice. He had a small carry bag in his hand.

Doyle focused on him, putting two and two into the calculator and getting four. This was what all those heavy types were looking for? This man? Good ploy, hiding in a line--until the laser would not let you pass because you did not have the ticket! No wonder he was working his way back instead of forward!

"Would you please," Doyle said quite softly, "allow me to escort you to the Protector's kiosk?" It was a version of the standard request, a phrase Doyle had offered a thousand times. It implied he had questions which needed answered, and it was usually the first step in an official Warning, a Declaration, or even an Arrest. He produced his badge, which had been in his pocket because he was officially off duty, and showed it briefly.

"I can't." Unfazed and apparently unconcerned, the man smiled at him.

"Can't?" Doyle raised an eyebrow and took another look at the man. What arrogance was this? Some Highers had that above-it-all attitude, and Doyle had never allowed it to be used on him. Rank didn't matter to him at all when it came to a Question and a matter of law. It was one reason he was a good Pro--and perhaps it was the reason he had not advanced further than a 5.

"I need your help," the man said in a voice so soft that it couldn't be heard by the people in front of him or behind. "I'm going to hand you my ID." Reaching into his pocket with extreme care, but also with a casualness which showed he was still mindful of those who might be watching, he produced a fold-over and handed it to Doyle.

Doyle flipped it open. CI5! There was the holo of the man, the official code number, the thumbprint. It looked authentic, but as he was not at a kiosk, Doyle could not check it with the computer to be sure. He couldn't compare the holo to the face because of the privacy collar. The name on the card was Bodie. William A. P. Bodie.

"Coogan's mob is after me," the man whispered.

Coogan? Number one on the Uncaught list? Doyle silently whistled, handing the man back his ID.

"What'd you have to do with Con Coogan?" Doyle wanted to know.

The other man gave a shrug which said he could not explain here, and then gave a glance around as the line moved forward. They were very near the top. Would a CI5 ID allow the man past the laser check without drawing attention to him? Probably not, Doyle thought, with a professional glance, judging by the nervousness the other was keeping under stern control.

So once there he could show his ID and be allowed to stay at the top of the ramp, but he would be in plain sight. The delay in the line would alert anyone who had an eye for such things. A Pro. Or a Con.

The CI5 man did not answer the question, but instead made a demand of his own. "I ask for assistance," he said, using the formal phrase.

Obligated to give assistance to security men if it was asked of him, Doyle looked the man up and down again. The picture on the ID didn't match the looks of the man, but there was the privacy collar to consider. If the ID was a fake.... Not committing himself, Doyle asked in return, "What assistance do you require?"

"I need...damn! There's another one! That's eight he's turned out to look for me! I didn't know...." The line moved forward. They were now in plain sight of everyone on the floor below.

"Turn your head to the front." Doyle reached into his pocket, sensing the man before him tense up. What did he think Doyle had there, a spang? Doyle gave him a black look and pulled out two lengths of thick blue ribbon. Soundlessly, he began tying one around the upper arm of his companion.

"Match ribbons? What's going on?" demanded the agent, but he allowed his arm to be decorated because he did not want to cause a fuss and draw eyes.

"Tie this one on me."

Bodie did so, but he was watching the line move forward as he did it. "What do you have in mind?"

"We can say we can't find our something. You, you berk, 'ave forgot it! They'll let us draw aside, won't they? Everybody knows new-matches have all their brains in their pants. I have the tickets, so they'll know we're passengers, and they'll let us stand aside while we go though our pockets and your bag. I'll make a show of...."

"Tickets?" Bodie looked at the Pro speculatively. "You have tickets? More than one? Where's your companion?" He looked at the ribbon decorating his arm, and while his face did not show it, Doyle knew there was a great deal of speculation going on behind those blue eyes.

"She couldn't make it, and as they haven't called me to the counters, I don't think they've found somebody at the last minute to buy the tickets, either. That's eight hundred points I'm out!"

"It's perfect," Bodie breathed, and a delighted grin, the type which hints at devilish trouble for someone, widened across his face. "I'll use the ticket, get completely away from the entire lot of them! And CI5 will reimburse you for the cost of your ticket. Though don't hold-your breath, the expenses take forever to process. You won't have your money for months."

"Use the ticket?" Doyle didn't like the sound of that. For one thing, it was a cabin for two he had reserved, and he didn't know this man well enough to share quarters. Further more, he had not brought along his bag, as he had not intended to go along on this trip. "But even I'm not going! I don't have my bag! And we're not just talking about a moon trip, you know! These are tickets for Mars."

"So buy clothes and a bag up on the moon," Bodie suggested very quietly. They had reached the top of the ramp, and there were only a few people ahead of them now.

"At moon prices? Are you crazy?"

"No. Keep your voice lower. Don't want these people to think we're having out first fight, do you?" That grin flashed again. It could become a very annoying sight, Doyle thought. "No time to change now. You're the one that put these bloody ribbons on us! It would look strange if a new match separated at the gate, wouldn't it! Come on, Angelfish!" Bodie drew Doyle to his side as a newly matched pair might do, to whisper in his ear, "One of them is working his way up the ramp! We have to get away! It's important!"

Doyle threw a glance over the sturdy shoulder rubbing against his. There was a man edging upwards, slowed by the press of the crowd and the irate citizens who suspected him of jumping the line. He looked like a thug, and he was wearing a cloak.

Doyle looked up. Two people were still in front of them. Well, why not at least take the shuttle up to the moon? Could sort it out there, couldn't they? That decided, he reached in his pocket for the shuttle tickets. They were both in his name, so Bodie would have to register for one before they would let him board. That shouldn't take long. He glanced behind them again. The thug was making fairly quick progress towards them.

"Fill out the gate data quickly," Doyle advised. If necessary, he could let Bodie go ahead, and stop the man for his behavior. Dragging him off to a kiosk should slow him down. Doyle wasn't too fond of the thought of that, for he might miss the flight. He resented the thought of anyone, even a CI5 agent, going off on his ticket, while missing the flight himself.

It was their turn. Doyle keyed one of his tickets over to Bodie, who was filling in the information on the screen, his fingers flashing over the keyboard. Doyle was keeping an eye behind, and it was only by chance he saw the form before the computer accepted it and blanked it. The name used was not Bodie. He watched as Bodie ran an ID card into the slot, and it didn't say Bodie on it, either.

"Cover identity," Bodie explained as the door slid open for them and the walk carried them along at speed 5 towards the shuttle. Doyle gave a nod, but inside he was wondering. What if the CI5 ID was the fake one? Had he been taken advantage of, was he going to regret this?

"Wilfred Bond?" Doyle said, repeating the name on the card.

"I'm just hoping they haven't traced that one to me, yet."

"Make a habit of pretending to be someone else?" Doyle inquired mildly.

"All part of the job," Bodie agreed cheerfully.

"You do not," Doyle went on, "look like a Wilfred."

"I'm pleased!"

The walk took them straight to the shuttle. A human attendant was there, double-checking the tickets. "Matches! he exclaimed, with a grin. "Have you already registered?"

"Thought we'd do it on the moon," Bodie said smoothly.

"More romantic that way," the attendant agreed with a knowing wink. "Want to try it in one sixth gee, do you? You'd better be careful. Bit tricky, that!" He waved them on through. Doyle felt his face redden as a woman who was standing behind them giggled.

"Ever done that?" Bodie asked Doyle as they filed into the shuttle.

"Sex? Match? Or go to Mars?" Doyle had never registered a partnership before. He wondered if Bodie had. For that matter, Bodie could be matched right now. Was there some man or woman waiting for him to come home? As they were directed to seats in the front of the not quite full shuttle, Doyle answered.

"Mars," Bodie said, but through the privacy collar's haze Doyle was sure he was grinning.

"Never been off the rock," he confessed. "You?"

"Been to the moon a few times. Never been to Mars," Bodie replied. "You'll like it up there."

"Moon, or Mars?" Doyle inquired, as a line of people sat down behind them.

"Both, probably. Filling up fast, isn't it?" Bodie commented, and that was when Doyle realized that Bodie was still watching the crowd. Did he think he was followed? How could he be? But then, not everybody here was bound for the Geode and Mars. There was a chance a ticket was available, and one of the cons could manage to join them. He or she would be one of the last people on board, if so. Or they could be finding a berth on another shuttle. A ship took off or came down every half hour. Bodie's problems, whatever they were, might not have been solved by getting on the shuttle.

As soon as the shuttle was full, the walls lit up and each section began to show an identical program of emergency cautions and take off procedures. Doyle strapped in when instructed to, sensing Bodie doing the same beside him. There were no windows in the shuttle, but the walls showed a video of a shuttle lift-off just to remind the passengers of what was happening outside. Then a currently popular video mystery began to run. Doyle wasn't interested in the plot. It was about a Pro on the trail of a murderer and it wasn't realistic at all. It had a slipwalk chase that had Doyle wondering how they'd slowed 'em down and coordinated the leaps, but didn't really leave him believing.

Bodie closed his eyes immediately after take-off, and dozed. Doyle watched the crowd, but no one was paying them special attention or acting in an unusual way. He was aware of the gravity shifts, of the lightness which came with them. His stomach twisted, and he was glad he had not had anything to eat in hours. Beside him, Bodie slept on. Must be made of iron, Doyle thought, glancing at the other man. But they took the tough ones for the security services, didn't they? Doyle had applied once, himself, but been turned down. He had the qualifications, but they'd met

the influx quota and didn't need him. What made this man special? Doyle looked, and then shrugged. The man looked normal. Of course, there was the matter of that privacy collar. He wondered what the man looked like under there. Most people wore one for a few days, to disguise the scars of surgery, if they'd had their faces adjusted, but there were some well known vid-stars and politicians who wore them, too. And, of course, Cons.

He was staring at Bodie when the trolley came around with little squeeze bulbs of juice. When Doyle took both his own, and one for the sleeping Bodie, the man who served them smiled indulgently at them and then winked, as if to imply that of course the newly matched were enthralled with each other, would be doing small services for each other. It was starting to feel strange. Bodie was not at all what he would have chosen as a match. For one thing, he was male. Doyle knew and admired several friends who were in male pairings, but for himself, his taste had usually run towards the feminine side of the species. Male matches might be honored by the population council, and the president and his match were upheld as the perfect couple, but that hadn't swayed Doyle from an almost full-fledged case of heterosexuality.

So in addition to finding himself sharing his match tour with a stranger, it was a male stranger. Someone as opposite of Ann as could be created.

Thinking of Ann was a mistake. Ann, who had changed her mind. Which meant she had never felt much for him in the first place. Ann had not loved him. She liked him, and enjoyed him, and sexed with him, but she had not loved him. Something he had done wrong? Something....

When the artificial gravity switched over completely, Bodie opened his eyes. Wordlessly, Doyle handed him the bulb and watched the expert way Bodie sucked it dry. He was glad the other man hadn't been awake to see his own struggles--with the bulb and with his thoughts. Bodie's problems were going to get his full attention, Doyle decided. For one thing, unlike his own, Bodie's had, if not solutions, then at least resolutions.

"Thanks for watching while I slept," Bodie said, sitting up a little straighter. "Do the same for you?" he offered.

"How did you know I stayed awake? Could have slept as well!" Doyle told him.

"I'd have known. Do you want to sleep?"

"After I find a relief station," Doyle said. The newness of the trip was wearing off. All their fellow passengers were watching the walls, or sleeping, or had their heads bent over book slates. He made his way through the narrow aisles to the short line leading to the one relief station, and waited to use it in turn. It was embarrassing to discover that one did not merely point and go. One had to make sure that what was pointed--and what emerged--was in the suction field. Very odd sensation, that. He was wearing a bemused expression on his face when he rejoined Bodie.

"Liked that, did you?" Bodie joked.

"Do people ever misuse those?" Doyle asked as he sat down and pulled the strap across his lap again.

"I've heard you can increase the suction's pressure--have to if the gravity gets lighter--for some interesting effects."

Doyle smiled. "What, never tried it yourself?"

"And have some oldster banging on the door, wanting to know what I was taking so long about? Can you imagine how they'd all stare when you opened the door again?"

"Wouldn't be polite, would it," Doyle murmured, not making it clear if the act, or the staring to which he referred.

"Always polite, are you, Doyle?" Bodie asked.

"A Pro is supposed to be always polite." Doyle made a brushing motion towards the spot on his tunic where his badge was usually displayed. Off duty, it stayed in a pocket, for Ann hadn't liked....

"Bad thought?" Bodie asked, carelessly.

Doyle considered how much to tell him. "Yes. About Ann."

"She the one supposed to be sitting beside you?" Bodie wanted to know.

"She decided she'd rather not."

"Ah. Had a bad fever, did she? Blow to the head?"

"What?" Doyle didn't understand.

"You have secrets, vices, bad breath?"

Doyle sighed. "Is this your way of asking why she changed her mind?"

"In a word, yes. You look like a personable lad." Bodie straightened up, clearly interested in Doyle's background.

"She didn't say, really. Only that she realized we wouldn't suit. Came from a Higher family, Ann did. She had a literary job, and was working her way up as well. I think she realized the climb would take longer matched to me. Or maybe her father...he's something to look into, I suspect. He didn't like me. Maybe it was me, and maybe he just didn't want a Pro in the family."

"Not everyone's cup of tea," Bodie agreed. "Speaking of tea," he said, looking longingly, at the digital on the door, "I wish we would land so that we could have some!" The juice was served to keep the passengers from getting dehydrated, but other food and drink was banned on shuttle flights. All too often, the gravity failed, and it was hard enough to keep the passengers under control, much less the flotsam of drifting food.

"Impatient?" Doyle asked.

"Upon occasion. Not always, though. I know what's worth waiting for," Bodie said.

Doyle didn't ask the obvious question, partly because he knew Bodie wanted him to do so.

"Unlike Ann," Bodie added.

"Oh, Ann probably knows what she wants," Doyle managed to say, covering his surprise. Surely the man did not mean to imply....

"So do I," Bodie said, and got up to join the line for the relief station.

Doyle was left pondering his words, turning them over and over in his mind. "I'm het," he said to Bodie as the other returned.

"How disappointing. I'm not," said Bodie, and closed his eyes as if to sleep some more.

Doyle poked him. "Bi?" he asked.

"Quite." Bodie opened his eyes again. "Don't let it worry you. I never go where I'm not invited. Best you should know, though, since we're playing at being matched."

"As long as you remember it's just playing."

"I don't suppose you'll let me forget it. Wake me in an hour, will you, Sunshine?"

"Just before I chuck you out the airlock," Doyle assured him. "Wait. It was my turn to sleep," he remembered. But he did not press the point. Too much to think about. Ann who didn't want him. This stranger who implied he did. Not that the two things could be compared. This man probably only wanted a few turns in the sheets. Except that was all Ann apparently had wanted, too.

An hour later, he woke up his companion, and by then he was so tired that he had only to close his eyes to be asleep. He woke up when Bodie shook his shoulder lightly. Doyle lifted his head. It was only then that he realized he had been resting against Bodie. Quickly he straightened up. The landing lights flashed on.

"Welcome to the moon," a smooth woman's voice came over the speakers, as the entertainment faded from the walls. "We will be sliding into our berth in only eighteen minutes. Those of you who will be going on to the Cammeron, the Geode or the Moon Tour please report to the representative of your travel service, who will meet the ship. All others please use the right exit when leaving the ship. We thank you for your patronage, and hope you will book with us again."

"The Geode?" Bodie said.

"Yes. Are you really considering using my extra ticket? You could stay here, go down on the next flight," Doyle suggested.

"I'll go where I'm sent. I'll need to get to a console. If the boss says go back, I'll go back. If not, I'll go with you." Bodie stretched, seemingly unconcerned.

Doyle, who had grown up in a society where everyone kept a phone in their pocket, the idea of having to go find a unit in order to make a call was both primitive and exotic. "I forgot--they'll want my phone." He patted his pocket.

"Yes. It's different here, with restricted frequencies and almost all the channels 'official'. They'll give it back before you head down again, or your can have them send it to your home. The only reason they let yours through the check point down there, is you're a Pro. Maybe they thought you had to be in touch at all times with your branch."

The shuttle maneuvered into its slot and the woman's voice began again. "Please remember to stay on the gravity strips. Do not step off the strips until you have had training. I repeat, your feet should remain within the areas defined by the gravity strips."

Of course, there were fools everywhere who were impelled to test the parameters of any situation, and the line was slowed as first a business woman and then two teenage boys had to be rescued and pushed back into the range of the strips by young men in the black uniforms of the port services.

Doyle noticed that his companion had no difficulties with the gravity strips. With intense concentration and some luck, Doyle managed to make a decent showing himself. Reaching the young man wearing the blue tunic with the logo of the Geode across his front, they paused.

"Passengers for the Geode?" the man asked cheerfully. "I'm Paul Anal. Please, the wait will not be long. We...."

"Yes. I have an immediate need of a secured console for a call to earth." Doyle said it, showing his ID discreetly.

Anal's eyes widened but he drew his own phone and tapped a number, speaking in a low voice. Then he said, "One of our people will be along in a moment to escort you to the console. Meanwhile, as I see our first group has assembled, let me introduce my self again. I am flight host Paul Anal. Everyone here is booked on the Geode flight to Mars, correct?" When there was no answer, he gave an emphatic nod. "Good." He consulted his slate, counted the group again and smiled. "All here!"

Beside Doyle, Bodie gave a tiny twitch, and Doyle knew the CI5 Man found the host amusing. His own lips turned up, but he listened respectfully.

"We will spend the day here on the moon," Anal said, toning down the cheerfulness to a bearable level. "As perhaps you know, there are some people who do not adjust to low gravity or no gravity situations. If you feel light headed, nauseated, or ill in any way, we ask that you report to one of the clinics you'll find on every level. Geode will refund 92% of your ticket price and return you to planet on the next shuttle. Also, before you embark, we require a quick physical by our doctor. This is for your own protection. If the doctor does not pass you, I regret you will not be allowed to continue. However, we will then refund 93% of your payment and return you on the shuttle. You will have a visit to the moon, and our regrets. You understand that for purposes of insurance, we must adhere to these regulations. Have you questions?"

There were twenty others standing there, most of them young and most of them obviously matched. Two other pairs wore the ribbons which marked them as newly matched. Most seemed more interested in each other than in the host.

"Another thing, which I assume most of you know," Anal went on, "is that there is a limit on baggage which can be taken on the trip. Only ten pounds per person. You will be assigned lockers here, in which you may leave any excess items, including any souvenirs of the moon you may obtain. If you feel you must take additional items, you may see the office about it, but I warn you, the cost is excessive."

One of the passengers lifted a hand to indicate a question. "When will we have a meal?"

"Quite soon! You'll have a marvelous meal. I'm sorry you have to restrict your ingestion for the shuttle flight, but we will make it up to you, I promise!" He smiled, nodded and went on.

"Here is the schedule. We will assign you rooms here. They will be small, but the rooms on the Geode are smaller. If you find the quarters here too confining, if you become claustrophobic, we suggest you withdraw from the voyage. If you decide at this, point not to continue, you will return on the next shuttle and we will return 90% of your ticket costs. You will be on the Geode for many days, and we do not want to cause you distress.

"After we assign the rooms, you will all assemble in our central room for the meal, where you will meet others taking the trip. We will have fifty passengers on the Geode on this occasion. We will schedule your appointment with the doctor. Then you will have the rest of the day to explore our charming moon city. Enjoy yourself, but return in time to get a full nine hours of sleep. At hour seven, we will be loading passengers for Mars! No breakfast before you board, remember! Take-off unsettles the stomach."

"Nice way to put it," Bodie whispered, causing Doyle to have to struggle to keep his face polite. He retaliated by shifting his feet, causing Bodie's balance to fight the gravity strip. Bodie grinned.

"Please follow me and we'll get the rooms and appointments assigned!" Anal trotted off. Doyle and Bodie let the others go ahead of them, taking a place at the end of the line. A woman wearing the Geode logo arrived, spoke with Anal and then came towards them.

"Please follow me to the phone," she said, and led the way to a tiny room. Bodie sat down-before the console, but did not activate it until Doyle had stepped out. Doyle wandered down to the nearest wall screen. Windows were not practical up here, for even insulated double glass lost too much heat. There were vid sets which projected the scene outside onto the wall inside, giving the effect of a window.

Doyle stood and watched the squat lunar vehicles come and go. A tour of the moon was a highlight of many people's lives. It did not look exciting. Too crowded, and nothing to see but different combinations of black and white. More exciting would be to try walking outside, away from the gravity strips. He watched technicians moving in the slow long strides of low gravity and wondered how it would feel. Should he spend the extra money and find out?

The more practical side of him reminded that he had already spent more than he liked to think about on this trip. The frustrated core of him demanded that he have at least some pleasures to repay him for his disappointments. Here he was on his match trip, and....

He moved down to the next screen. He was just in time to see the next shuttle settle down. The flexible tube extended from the port building and fastened on the side of the shuttle. After than there was nothing to see, but he knew the people were unfastening their belts and following the gravity strips, just as he had done a short while before.

Were any of those people Cons? Were they chasing the mysterious Mr. Bodie? CI5 was a small organization which served in many capacities. When the president had visited last year, there had been a CI5 man requesting that the speed of the slipwalks the president would be taking be changed. A slightly increased speed, he remembered, to discourage the crowds. Or had there been specific members of the public being discouraged?

Lost in thought, he did not lift his head until he heard his name being called for the second time. Bodie was leaning out of the console room, waving. Doyle returned, moving as quickly as the gravity strip and his own awkwardness would allow.

"I've got my orders! It's on to Mars. The boss wants to talk to you," he added. "Hurry up--this is costing a fortune and that makes him crabby."

The boss? Yes, it was the image of George Cowley himself on the tiny screen.

"Mr. Doyle? I want to thank you for your assistance to my operative. It would serve CI5 best if he did go on to Mars in your company. You will be compensated for the full cost of his ticket. For reasons of security, the transaction will take place upon your return. The people we are dealing with are quite capable of recording bank transactions and making accurate guesses based on such information. For this reason, we will pay you a fee to cover the difficulty this may cause you."

"Thank you," Doyle said. He would have said more, but the other man began speaking again, and Mr. Cowley was not the type of man one interrupted.

"I also have an unusual request. Bodie informed me of your personal situation, for which I express my regret. It is, however, quite useful to us that you are on your match trip without a match. I propose that you register a match with Bodie while on the moon." Before Doyle's protests and questions could come boiling out, Mr. Cowley pressed on. "It would protect my agent if he was registered in a match under the name he is currently using."

"Wilfred Bond."

"Quite. Records will show he registered properly. You will be able to un-match at the end of three months time, and will receive a separation settlement."

Legally, any match could be dissolved at the end of three months, but a settlement was usually given only when one partner of a long term match wished to break it. It was an admission of fault.

"I'm het." Doyle said firmly.

"Perhaps a larger settlement?" Cowley asked, apparently unaware that the statement enraged the Pro.

"Perhaps a promise of abstinence from your agent?" Doyle countered.

"You mean I have to pretend to be matched to you, and can't touch you!?" Bodie showed as much reaction to this as Doyle had seen from him so far. One of those, was he? One who had to have it at regular intervals? Not that he didn't have a point. If known to be matched, he could not go looking for another to share passions with, and if he could not find what he needed in the match, then he would do without for the time they were matched.

"You will pledge your cooperation," Cowley said flatly, to Bodie.

Rebellion was in every line of Bodie's big body, but he said tightly, "Yes, sir." He turned to Doyle, scowling. "It will be as you decide."

"Protector Doyle?" Cowley asked, now wanting Doyle's answer. Slick old man, Doyle thought, using the title of Protector to remind him that assisting the security branches was his duty.

"I'll match, but I'll Declare if he offends me."

"Acceptable. Let me explain to you some of the details of the situation. My man has observed a questionable action by associates of a man you may have knowledge of, Edwin Coogan. It is in the interests of Mr. Coogan that my agent not submit his information during the Declaration"

"CI5 has Declared? You think you can prove Coogan is in violation of law?" Doyle leaned forward eagerly. Coogan had stood for three Declarations so far, and never yet been convicted, although several of his minions had been found to be Cons. Coogan was willing to let his associates take the fall.

"The Declaration will not happen for some time." Cowley's frustration showed for a moment. They must be offering the same charges as the last time, then, and be forced to wait until a new quarter began and a new judge took the bench.

"The trip to Mars takes months!" Doyle protested.

Cowley smiled, a wintery but satisfied twisting of his lips. Doyle was suddenly uneasy at the thought of having anything at all to do with this man's schemes. "There will be other aspects of the charges to deal with. It is unfortunate, but we may be forced to keep Edwin Coogan in custody while we wait for Bodie."

"For Wilfred Bond." Bodie interjected.

"Yes. I ask that you see to the safety and delivery of my agent. Will you do that, Protector Doyle?"

"I'm on holiday."

"Ah. But you see I have looked up your record. I know the type of man you are, Doyle. You're not one to let a duty slide just because you haven't logged in yet. Your superiors speak highly of your dedication to duty."

Doyle felt manipulated. Flattered, but manipulated. "I won't have authority on ship or at the colony, but I'll do my best to make sure he returns to you," Doyle said.

"Excellent. I expect to be contacted when you return to the moon." This last was directed at Bodie.

"Yes."

Cowley nodded and broke the connection. When the screen flickered, Doyle remembered that this was not a normal call. It had probably cost a month's pay. He was glad it was not on his bill.

"Time to go, love. We have so much to do," Bodie said briskly, standing up. "Have to go get our room, get our meal and then get Matched." He smiled, enjoying the tiny flinch Doyle had made when reminded. "We need to, get you a set of clothing as well. You can share my kit," he added, picking up his bag. "We don't want to go over the weight limit, for you may be sure George Cowley will not pay for it!"

"It solves one problem," Doyle said. "If you've enough for two?"

"Oh, I've enough for two," Bodie said, exiting the room, and leaving Doyle with the impression that he was not just talking about deodorant and soap.

Doyle had no opportunity to reflect on it, for he had to catch up with Bodie. Their timing was excellent, for the last of the line from their ship was being assigned a room as they arrived.

"Doyle, Raymond," Doyle announced. "And match."

"Match's name, and thumbprint for the records," the computer image said.

"Wilfred Bond," Bodie said, and pressed him thumb down on the plate.

"Thank you. Match number?" asked the mechanical voice.

"We haven't one. We're having the match confirmed up here," Bodie said.

"Please supply match number when boarding. Your room number is 1004. Your clinic appointments--you are the last--are at 0515, Moon time. Your report time is 0700. Have you questions?"

"No," Doyle said, just as Bodie asked, "Where is the food?"

"Room 103, this level. The meal is being served now."

"Then we'd better hurry. Thank you," Bodie said, and headed off at once. His speed, even considering the gravity strips, was excessive, but Doyle did not complain, but did his best to keep up. He wasn't going to show himself as inferior to this CI5 agent.

"Hungry?" he asked with mild sarcasm.

"Starved. Aren't you?" Bodie asked cheerfully,

His stomach agreed, but he wouldn't say so. "Is this it?"

"Smells like it. Look, the whole room has gravity," Bodie said as they stepped in. It wasn't full gravity, but enough so the people here could sit and eat comfortably. The room was filled with the low sound of talk. Most of the people were at tables for two or four, and there were no tables for two left. "Looks like I'll have to share you, Sunshine," Bodie said as he headed for the food. It was laid out buffet style, with a fielded hood over the tables to secure the food if the gravity was to fail.

Doyle followed along, filling his own plate from the rather elegant selection. He was faintly embarrassed at the amount on Bodie's plate, although he wasn't sure why he should be. Not as though they were really matched, was it?

Bodie sat at a table for six which had a couple at one end. The man and woman were wearing match ribbons around their arms and were very much involved in feeding each other bits of food and whispering to each other.

Bodie picked up a shrimp-shaped bit of vegiform. "Open wide, my petal," he teased, and brought it towards Doyle's mouth.

"Only," Doyle told him, sotto voce, "if you want me to bite off your fingers."

Bodie popped the morsel in his own mouth. "I can tell you've never been matched before!"

"Have you?" Doyle asked, refusing to volunteer personal information under these circumstances.

"No. Never found the right person," Bodie told him, between bites.

Doyle tasted his own food, finding it wonderful, but he paused long enough to say, "Looked for one?"

"Oh, every night!" Bodie said, with a wink that told that he did not adhere tightly to the government's suggestions about restricted sexual contact.

Doyle, who had, before meeting Ann, bent that particular rule a few times himself, applied himself to his meal.

"You don't approve? Good little Pro like you followed all the guidelines? Sex only to see if a partner is compatible and with a possible match in mind?" Bodie's tone was faintly scornful.

"Get your disease testing at regular intervals?" Doyle asked, responding in kind.

"The boss makes sure of it," Bodie replied, not at all embarrassed. "I'm as clean as this plate's going to be--in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Oh?" Bodie winked. "Sure of that?"

Since the only reason he would need to know was if he were considering mating with the man, Doyle was quite sure. He ignored the taunting voice and ate steadily.

"You might as well know, I intend to talk you into bed," Bodie told him in a conversational tone. Their voices were very low, and Bodie had sat very close to him, as a match might be expected to do.

"Why?" Doyle asked flatly, drinking deeply of his glass of water.

"Stupid question, darling. You have the eyes to die for--and an arse to match it, and speaking of matches--we will be. In case you've forgotten, it's what the matched do."

"You promised...."

Bodie interrupted him. "I said it would be as you decide. I didn't say I wouldn't try to change your mind. I'm very attracted to you," he explained. "Was from the first moment I saw you."

"I'm het!" Doyle said, louder than he intended. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed, and no heads turned his direction.

"So you keep saying. But have you ever tried the other side?"

"I've tried it. When I was young. The way all children do."

"You must tell me about it some time," Bodie teased. "For all I know, the idiot didn't do it right."

"What idiot?"

"The one who got you in his arms and then failed so utterly."

"You make a lot of assumptions," Doyle said, drinking again.

"It's just that I have confidence in my own...shall we say, abilities?"

"How nice for you," Doyle said, with a cold glance. It was clear his attitude was that his food held more attraction for him than his companion.

"And you know what they say about the Mars trip. Doyle, something like this will never fall into my lap again! You can't expect me to take this voyage and not find out for myself if it's true!"

"Can't I?" Doyle asked, but he felt a regret of his own which he did not let Bodie see. Sex in low gravity during Jump was supposed to be...different. Different, how? Reports varied. Video tales were fiction, and not to be trusted, but the first hand accounts he had watched were each so different that no real conclusion could be drawn. It was a sad thing that he was not going to discover the wonder himself, but the alternative was to experience it with an aggressive--and male--stranger.

"It's going to be a long quarter," Bodie grumbled, attacking the rest of his food and leaving conversation alone for the moment.

Doyle finished his food first and sat with a cup of hot tea, waiting. A Pro learned patience early, and besides, Doyle didn't mind sitting and watching the crowd. The people from the next shuttle were filing in. Business associates, he decided. They all looked of a piece, in dark clothing. No obvious cons, no youths with wild hair. No matches in this lot, either, he noticed.

"Something?" Bodie asked, his attention apparently still on his meal.

"No matches," Doyle said. They reminded him of something....

"You're thinking of Coogan's hounds at the port on Earth."

He had been. Doyle turned to look at Bodie. He wasn't used to strangers who seemed to read his mind.

"Cowley did say you were a good Pro," was all Bodie said in explanation before he cleared his plate. "You ready to go?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go get matched." Bodie grinned as he stood up.

His eager attitude was exactly what it should be for one feigning nuptial anticipation, but it annoyed Doyle.

Bodie's grin grew wider. "Try to look happy. After all, you're winning a very fine man, here. Hundreds have looked my way and been turned aside with broken hearts, and here I'm offering my all to you. You could at least look pleased about it!"

"Hundreds of what?" Doyle asked. His in-public face was in place, and the tone of his voice was pleasant, but there was a sting to the words none the less.

"Oh, women as well as men, I assure you. I appeal to almost everyone," Bodie assured him. "Handsome face, regular exercise, steady job--you could do worse, Sunshine!"

"Why are you calling me that?" Doyle asked as they went out the door.

"It's a love name. Didn't anyone ever call you by a love name? And if so, why not?"

Doyle did not allow himself to react. He thought about Ann, who had not had any love names for him. But he had not used many with her, either. Why?

Doyle said, "Ah. Perhaps I can think of one suitable for you. Petal?"

"Wouldn't bother me. I've been called worse," Bodie assured him.

"I'm sure you have," Doyle said politely, and said little else as they moved down the hall. The gravity strip took most of his attention. Lifting his feet enough to walk, but not so far that he pulled free of the artificial pull, he fell behind just far enough to find that he was following Bodie. This annoyed him immensely, but he was careful to keep his feelings hidden, not only because he was in public, but because he did not want to show a weakness to the other man.

It was because he was a Pro, it was because he was lagging behind, and also because he had a suspicious mind, that he noticed the man following them. A tall man, dark, walking smoothly and therefore either local or well-travelled.

"Friend of yours?" Doyle asked Bodie as they came to an intersection.

"No. I take it he's not familiar to you, either?" Bodie had also seen the man? Grudgingly, Doyle's respect for his companion went up another notch.

"No."

"Let him follow. He could be witness at our match!" Bodie joked, taking a left turn.

"Friend or family?" Doyle asked. "He looks more like you."

"Not nearly as handsome," Bodie told him. Then Bodie let as much of a smile out as was polite, and said, "Here we are! Just two citizens on their own business! Be interesting to see how long he lasts. Will he follow us right up to the desk?"

The stranger lasted to the door of the Statistics and Registration office, at which point he paused as if remembering an appointment and hurried out of sight. Designated with the SRO logo in red and blue, the SRO looked like SRO offices anywhere, with consoles around the perimeter and the desk with the workers and volunteers in the center.

"Matches!" called out an older man as he saw their ribbons. He had white hair and wore the tunic of a volunteer. "I'm David Green of the Waiting Sect! Have you need of a witness?"

"Sorry. I'm agnostic," Bodie said cheerfully.

"I assure you, our sect does not...."

"All we need is a representative of Libra," Doyle broke in.

"Oh. Well, yes, there is a Justice official here. At desk six," he pointed.

"Thank you," Doyle said, and headed that direction, forcing Bodie to follow. Fortunately, the Waiter did not.

"I don't know if I can marry you, Doyle. I didn't know you had Beliefs!" Bodie said in mock horror.

"Yes you did," Doyle said. He was a Pro. The doctrine of fairness was almost a given in his profession.

"I suppose I'll learn to live with it," Bodie said, feigning resignation.

Doyle ignored him. "We're here to match," he told the young lady at the desk. "Our forms were all filled out on Earth. We just need witness and signatures."

"And the party and the bedroom," Bodie whispered, loud enough for only Doyle to hear.

"Of course," the young lady said, leading them to the console nearest to them. "Names?"

The mic picked the words up, but she typed them in as well, carefully checking the spelling of each. The two screens came up.

"Who first?" she asked.

"Me," Bodie said, and sat down. He read through Doyle's file, signed his name, and stood up, giving his seat to Doyle with a flourish of his hand.

The file on Bodie was all lies, but Doyle read it anyway. Height, weight, age--those might be right. Just thirty, or was that a lie, too? Single birth, no diseases or defects, a decent education and no previous matches. It might all be true except the birthdate and the name. If this were a real match, he'd be pleased with the profile. Not that he'd ever tell Bodie so! He signed his name.

"Please stand up," the woman said. She turned on the audio switch. "Wilfred Bond?"

Bodie knew what to do. "I am Wilfred Bond. I declare Raymond Doyle my Match." He and the young woman turned to Doyle.

"Raymond Doyle. I declare Wilfred Bond my Match."

The woman nodded. "I, Anna-Lisa Conmaricha, witness this Match. Moon A2352, Console six." She turned off the switch and turned to them. "It's done!" She waited expectantly.

Feeling something like a hypocrite, Doyle untied the bit of blue ribbon from around Bodie's arm, while Bodie did the same for him. Then Anna-Lisa took both of the soft strings, folded them together and tied them in a knot. She offered it to Bodie, who took it, kissed the knot, and passed it to Doyle, who did the same before handing it back to her. Untying the knot, she handed the strings back, one to each of them. Bodie tied the one he received around Doyle's arm, as Doyle did the same to Bodie.

"Thank you both! Your match number is 143745-WBRD. The registration fee has been deducted from each point balance. Have a long and loving match!"

"Thank you," Doyle said. He had the strangest feeling of being let down. He had looked forward to this moment. Ann and he, pledging to each other with a few friends to witness, and then a wonderful night of loving. Here, he was matching with a stranger, witnessed by a stranger, and he was going to...what? Certainly not a night of tender love! He looked over at his companion. Tall, tough, a bi male...he hoped none of his friends ever learned about this!

"Yes, thank you!" Bodie was smiling. This was one of the places where such a reaction in public wasn't frowned upon. Doyle tried to summon up a smile of his own, but it wasn't much of one and he let it die a natural death.

"Now we find our room!" Bodie said, much too loudly, and taking Doyle by the hand, he headed for the door.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Doyle pulled his hand free.

"Hand holding for new matches is practically required!" Bodie protested. Doyle had the impression the man was laughing at him and he didn't like it.

"We can skip it. Pretend you actually know the meaning of acceptable public behavior!" Doyle stalked off

"I know it. Just don't choose to follow the same standards everyone else does. Unlike you, Sunshine. You've enforced the rules so long you actually believe in them!"

Doyle gave him a poisonous look, but then recovered his presence of mind and smoothed his face. Bodie's stupid opinions had nothing to do with him!

A small voice said, 'He's your match.' Doyle ignored it. Bodie was not his match. It was a false match, but not more than a match with Ann would have been. He tried to think of Ann, but there was no comfort there. She didn't want him. If she hadn't changed her mind so suddenly, he wouldn't be in this mess! All Ann's fault! Then, he was even more angry with himself for thinking such nonsense.

"We're here." Bodie said.

Doyle looked up. They had turned off the main corridor and were standing in front of a residential door. 1004. Bodie put his palm to the panel and the door opened. Before stepping in, Doyle glanced around. They didn't seem to have a shadow. He frowned. He should have been thinking about that earlier.

Bodie dropped his bag on the table and opened it. It was a small room, the ceiling only a finger's length higher than Bodie's head. There was no bed such as one might find in a home, but only a raised platform, padded, with a therma-sheet folded at the end nearest them. The gravity was probably on at 50 percent except in the tiny bathroom cubicle, which had something approaching earth norm.

Doyle was having difficulty in adjusting to the gravity changes, but did not have anything to say as he fought for balance. He was watching Bodie set up a small, disk-shaped item on the table.

"A privacy field?" Doyle asked, as he figured out what it was. It was half the size of any he had seen before.

"And a snoop check. I don't want anyone to hear when I whisper sweet nothings in your ear!" Bodie joked.

Doyle dismissed that. "Why would we need to speak privately? We've not been totally discreet. Anyone with a directional mic on us would already know...."

Bodie shrugged. "We've been careful enough, unless the whole of the port is bugged. I've a unit which pings in my ear when I'm being monitored, and it's not gone off. Of course, the other side might have new technology," he mused. The thought didn't seem to worry him. "It's the ship that will be wired. They random monitor the compartments. No, I need to give you some information."

"Oh?"

"A number to call if something happens to me. I don't mean if I'm hurt, I mean if I'm dead. Cowley will want to be informed immediately. I also have to explain a few things. Some information about the case. And then I'm going to jump you."

"Bodie!" Doyle began.

"Better make that Bond. Don't want to get into the habit of tossing that name around." Bodie said.

"It's probably not, your name anyway," Doyle said. "And if your word means so little...."

"Did I say anything about sex? I'm going to jump you--and see if you know anything about fighting under low gravity conditions. I want to be ready for anything. You're my partner for the moment. I want to know how far I can rely on you." Bodie's tone said he didn't expect much.

Doyle kept back his reaction. He had been division champion in the martial arts competition last year. He knew he was fast and that opponents routinely under-estimated him. He also knew he'd never had to handle himself in abnormal gravity. Chases along slipwalks, leaps between levels, stopping fights in certain pubs, that was one thing. Up here was another. He tried to remember what he had learned in school about force and gravity.

"First," Bodie said, "the numbers! Then the fun."

'Fun?' thought Doyle, fifteen minutes later as he bounced off the wall. He twisted--too much--and went wide as he aimed a kick at Bodie. Only a madman would call this fun! Sweat was dripping down Doyle's face already, and he was fearing for the seams in his clothing, when he could spare a second to think of such things. It wasn't only that Bodie was good. Doyle had fought against those better than himself many times. It wasn't that he knew the tricks to fighting in low gravity--tricks that Doyle was picking up as fast as he could--it was the way he fought. It was different in a way that defied words. Bodie had power, he had moves Doyle had never seen, and he had a quality Doyle at first could not recognize, an intensity of motion, a....

Doyle pinwheeled across the room, hit the wall and slid down it. Holding a hand to his split lip, Doyle waited for the room to stop tilting. Bodie was coming towards him, and Doyle tensed, but the other man stopped a few feet away, dropped to a squat, peered at him, and grinned a grin Doyle was finding increasingly annoying.

"You're good," Bodie said. Then he added, "Just as well we were going to get you new clothing, though, isn't it?"

Doyle looked with disgust at his torn tunic. "You knew this was my only outfit!" he complained bitterly.

"Yes, but I knew what you'd say if I suggested you take it off so that we could fight in our briefs, too. You'd have thought I was just after the sight of your body!" Bodie grinned again. Doyle wished that face were just a few inches closer--and that he had the energy for one more good swing.

"Don't look like that, Sunshine! Or I'll have to think about changing your name to Thunder-cloud." Bodie reached a hand out to help Doyle up. Doyle gave another wipe at his face with the back of his hand and then, ignoring the outstretched hand, he pushed himself up. He went to the tiny relief room. There was the covered hood of the gravity toilet and a tiny sink with a suction drain. There was no shower. He very much wanted a long, hot shower. His face must have showed his sour reaction.

Bodie's voice came from the door, rich with suppressed amusement. "They don't shower up here, or bathe. It's old-style damp cloth, if you want to be fresh. In the old days, when the moon base was first built, it was considered quite proper to have a definite pong! It's actually possible to keep clean with just a bit of water and soap, you know. They provide a good cleaner and a lotion for afterwards!"

This flow of information did not impress Doyle. "Would you get out?" he asked, almost civilly.

"Out? Not a very good beginning to our match, Dearest!"

"Out--unless you want a tree named after you?" Doyle asked sweetly.

He was referring to the practice of burying the cremated or processed remains of loved ones at the roots of a tiny tree, which was then planted in one of the reclamation projects. The government had been advocating the practice for the last ten years, but it had not caught on in all communities.

"A tree? Don't believe they do that up here. Just dump you in the recycler, I'm sure. But wait," he paused, dramatically. "Why, I do believe that was a threat!" Bodie was not at all distressed by it, which was even more aggravating.

"Bodie...."

"Bond."

"Bond." Doyle repeated, willing to go that far, "I want some privacy." He said it in a flat voice. His hands were busy tearing open the packet and shaking out the cloth, his eyes were on the task.

"How do you do that?" Bodie asked. He didn't wait for an answer, knowing Doyle wasn't likely to give him one. "You make that wall of cold without even looking at a person."

Doyle ignored him, taking the cloth to his lips first, and wincing as the cleaner it was impregnated with made his cut sting.

Bodie still stood in the doorway.

So Doyle first cleaned his face and hands, and then took off his tunic and wiped down his sweaty torso, and Bodie watched, a bit of a smile on his face. Doyle put on his tunic, straightened it, and turned to leave the small room. Bodie stepped back to let him out, and when it was clear Doyle was leaving the room, he moved up beside him.

"Where are we going?" Bodie asked.

"I," Doyle said, "am going to buy some clothing." His attitude said he did not care what Bodie did.

"Oh, good. Maybe we can find you something brighter. I don't like that dark blue on you."

Doyle said, "What you like is of no concern of mine."

"Of course it is. I'm paying for it, after all" Bodie told him.

"No. You're not. And why should you?" Doyle asked, curiosity tugging the question from him.

"I was responsible for ruining the only one you have. Only right I should replace it. Besides, it'd be expected of me. Newly matched, you know. Showering you with tokens of my affection."

Doyle paused.

Bodie laughed. "They'll think I'm very passionate, that I ripped it off of you in my hurry to love you."

It was what Doyle had been thinking. Once again he had the odd feeling Bodie had almost read his mind. "They'll think you're an animal."

"Oh, they'll take one look at you and understand! Besides, they'll think it's what you wanted--you picked me," Bodie countered.

Probably they would. Doyle headed for the door, Bodie following. Once out in the corridor, there was the gravity strip to deal with. Doyle was starting to feel tired. The gravity changes sucked the strength out of his limbs. No doubt one could get used to it, in time.

"It's this way," Bodie said, once they were at an intersection, and he led the way. Doyle followed him, not so lost in his black mood and his tiredness that he failed to watch the people around him. So when two men coming from the other direction jostled Bodie hard enough to knock him down or away from the gravity strip, his hand was out even before it happened, steadying Bodie and preventing him from going down.

"Thanks, mate," Bodie said absently, his eyes following the two, who were already out of sight.

"You think they did it on purpose?" Doyle asked.

Bodie shrugged. "The most harm it would do is a sprained ankle. Those are common here, especially amongst the tourists." Bodie was moving again, but said nothing more until they came to the row of shops and services on the main level.

Space was at a premium on the moon, and the shops were not quite as they were back home in the city. Hologram advertisements lined each small room. Passing by the booths which offered moon rocks set in plastic or made into jewelry, Bodie led the way into the largest of the stores.

"You'll need a bag. A tooth and health pack. Lotion of some sort. These ships are either too humid or too dry. You're not one of those idiots who kept your beard, are you?" Bodie wanted to know.

Doyle shook his head.

"Good. Noticed you kept the rest of the body hair, though," Bodie said, with a trace of appreciation in his voice. He gave Doyle no chance to react to that, but held out the nearest chair.

Doyle took it. He wrote in his measurements and preferences on the panel and then punched the button which brought up tunics.

"That one?" Bodie asked, a few minutes later. "Rather like the one you have on, but a little lighter." He was standing behind Doyle, and now he leaned over him and punched the button which put the number into a reference file. Doyle went on looking at the pictures.

"I like that," Bodie said awhile later, but this time, Doyle hit the 'next' button before Bodie could reach out. "I'm beginning to think you hold a grudge, love. Very unattractive feature in a mate," Bodie whispered into Doyle's ear.

Doyle ignored him.

"You don't need anything to sleep in. You have to be nude while in Jump, you know, or wear special suits." Bodie said.

"Yes, I know."

"Well, at least you spoke to me," Bodie said.

Doyle made his selections, stood up and tilted his head towards the chair and said, "Going to sign that?"

"What, for all of it?" Bodie demanded, punching the button for the total and making a face. He scrolled though the items, changed the blue to a deep green on the tunic, and then, to Doyle's surprise, Bodie signed, and then set his thumbprint on it, paying for the lot. "You'd better be worth it," he joked.

"You're buying good will, Bond, and nothing else," Doyle said sharply.

"And worth every point of it," Bodie assured him. "Where would you like to go next? Can watch the ships take off from the observation panel."

"I'm going to sleep," Doyle told him, picking up his bundle from the front desk. When Bodie said nothing, he looked up. "I expected a little innuendo, and a smart remark. You feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling the need for a nap myself," Bodie told him. "Been all go for two days now. Question is, are you going to object to sharing our bed?"

"No. You'll keep your hands--and everything else--to yourself. I have your word on it, after all," Doyle said.

"I could change your mind," Bodie said, but so lightly that Doyle did not react.

They went through the corridors again, with Bodie in the lead as before, but nothing exceptional happened and they were soon back in the tiny room. "Keep the torn tunic here in the locker they assign to you," Bodie said as Doyle put down the bag. "No use wasting energy hauling it to Mars."

"I had managed to think that out for myself," Doyle said, going over and testing the bed. It did not seem to be very soft.

Bodie lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, as if dismissing Doyle's comment. He began to take his clothing off, folding it and putting it away in his bag.

Doyle, who was doing the same, found his eyes straying, almost against his will, towards the other man. Muscles. Plain white underthings. A near perfect form, built on the sturdy side.

No hair.

Except what was on top of his head, he had no hair on his body, Permanently removed? Such a thing wasn't unheard of, although it was odd enough to catch Doyle's interest. Why had Bodie done it? It created a strange effect. It made Bodie's body look like a smooth statue, formed from, white marble. By a master artist. Hard curves.

If Bodie noticed Doyle's interest, he made no mention of it. He only stretched, twisted his body left and right, and then with his back to Doyle, he reached up, turned off, and then removed the privacy collar. His face was turned away as he crawled into the bed. Quite slowly, Doyle did the same thing, careful to stay entirely on his own side, so that he did not realize at first that Bodie had made an effort not to let his face be seen. Bodie put his hand on the light control and dimmed the lights to the lowest setting.

Why was that? What reason could there be for keeping his true appearance from Doyle? Was he ugly? That didn't seem likely. A collar distorted features just a little, and Bodie gave the impression of being a handsome man. The picture on his ID had been of a handsome man.

But, anyone could be handsome. All it took was surgery, and perhaps half the population had their appearance enhanced at some stage of their life. Privacy collars were often used while one healed, as a kindness to the general public. That didn't feel right to the Pro instinct stirring in Doyle. Citizens had surgery as teenagers, or they began at mid-life to repair the damages of time. Few people changed in the peak years, and Bodie's body was that of a man in mature perfection.

He turned his mind from that, determined to get the sleep his body required. Comfort illuded him. He twisted, trying to find a spot which welcomed him.

It was quite odd. The blanket was a heavy one, and he realized after a moment that this was deliberate, giving one the impression of being anchored. Low gravity affected the way he rested, every move enhanced and awkward. Nothing was quite as it should be.

"It helps if you cuddle up," Bodie told him, light amusement in his tone.

The problem was, it was probably true. Doyle refused to even consider that solution. He forced himself to be still, knowing that if he did not, Bodie would be perfectly within his rights to make a comment or to order him to be still.

He was tired, it had been a long day and a strange one. All sorts of images swirled thought his brain, so that he was too full of them to properly court sleep. Some time later he became aware of the soft sound breathing and he knew his companion was asleep.

It was that regular, soothing sound which finally lured him at last into his own slumber.

Hours later, much refreshed, he eased out of bed to go use the toilet. He was curious enough to throw a glance at Bodie's face, but the other man had it buried in the crook of an arm. Once up, Doyle decided to take advantage of being away from prying eyes, and he stayed in the small relief room and washed himself completely, top to bottom. He was a bit stiff from the strenuous activity of the day before, and he felt an ache in every part of his body from the gravity shifts, but he was also rested and hungry.

Bodie was up and dressed, privacy collar in place, when Doyle came out into the main room.

"I thought you were going to grow old in there," Bodie claimed, pushing past as if he were in a hurry to use the facilities himself. Considering how Bodie had stuffed himself the day before, Doyle thought, it was probably true.

Doyle pulled on his new clothing, combed out his hair and spent the time while he waited for Bodie doing the light exercises each Pro was supposed to practice daily. This had the unfortunate result of increasing his hunger, and he knew they would not be eating breakfast on the moon.

"Ready for your physical?" Bodie asked, and Doyle looked up to see the CI5 man leaning on the wall, watching him again. "The doctor can take my word for it--your shape's in excellent shape," Bodie told him.

"Don't you ever let your rather juvenile sense of humor rest?" Doyle snapped. He regretted the privacy collar. It annoyed him. The nuances of a face, which he relied on so often to make his judgements, was denied to him, and he resented it.

"Of course," he said with suitable gravity. But then he grinned. "When I make love," Bodie told him. "I know what's serious!"

"If you don't stop your comments, I will Declare, with a harassment charge, the moment we return to earth," Doyle said.

"What's objectionable about what I said?" Bodie protested. "A simple truth, in answer to a question you asked. Give it a rest, Pro. Be human like the rest of us!"

"In your case, the humanity is debatable," Doyle, told him acidly.

"I may have to Declare, myself, for repeated insult. Works both ways, Dearest. Ready to go?" Bodie was repacking his bag as he spoke, folding down his security unit last.

"Will we be coming back?" Doyle asked. Not that this room held may charms. He went over to close his own bag. There, he paused, and after a moment, he took out the match ribbon and tied it around his sleeve. Bodie was wearing his, after all.

"After the physical, we might as well look over the moon, see the sights. Want to go outside, try a moonwalk?" Bodie asked.

"At those prices, no," Doyle told him.

"Meaning you'll do it if I cough up the money? I can see where you're going to be expensive to keep," Bodie told him. "You sure you're worth it?" Bodie was teasing again, giving a leer towards Doyle's rear end as he spoke.

"Meaning I don't believe in indecent profit. I once looked into the costs and returns of that particular business, for a case I had an interest in, and the figures showed a profit just under the legal limit." Doyle hefted his bag, deciding that he was well within the weight allowance. He did not look at Bodie.

"Something tells me you and I have some basic philosophical differences, Love," Bodie said, shaking his head sadly.

"You like profit, do you?" Doyle asked pointedly.

"It's not a dirty word," Bodie said. "Points aren't a bad thing."

"They are if someone else is deprived that you might have them." Doyle did not want to get into an argument with Bodie. He headed for the door, bag in hand.

"The law puts reasonable limits on profits. Are you saying the law is wrong? That the limits should be stricter?" Bodie asked, coming along behind with his own bag.

"No, the law isn't wrong. It's all the people trying to circumvent the law I have no use for." Doyle added, "It's the attitude some people have. Rubs me the wrong way."

"I can see that. Going to run for political office?" Bodie asked.

"Study hard, attain Higher rank, finally get an elected position when I'm seventy? Not for me. That's not the way to make a difference, at least, not for me."

"So you became a Pro? Bet that's an exciting life, sorting out the double-laners on the slipwalks," Bodie mocked. "If you really want to make a difference, why don't you join CI5?"

"I tried once. You had your slots filled." Doyle shrugged it off. "Are you ready to go?"

Bodie opened the door, and they stepped out onto the gravity strip. It was all Doyle could do not to groan as he felt the pull on his sore legs, but he kept his opinion to himself as they went down to the clinic.

It was a standard unit, with three cubicles and a physician on duty. The physical was almost identical to the one Doyle took every three months. Nude, he stepped into the machine, put his arms and feet into the appropriate slings and depressions, and waited while it hummed and clicked and tested fifty different aspects of his blood and other bodily fluids, peered into his body, took his temperature and snipped off a bit of hair.

"Rating?" he asked the bored looking physician as he put on his clothing.

"94.5. Quite good. Your muscles show some sign of fatigue. If you find the gravity changes debilitating, please request a supplement to your meal. Thank you." The man entered the numbers into the record and turned to look at the next set. Bodie's, as it happened. Doyle stayed near enough to listen in on what the physician said to Bodie.

"Thank you. Your rating is 97.1. Your muscles show some sigh of fatigue. If you....." He stopped as Bodie waved him to silence.

"New match, you know," Bodie said in a mock whisper, most of his attention on Doyle as he watched for a reaction. "He wore me out," he confided, as Doyle's green eyes flashed.

"I suggest you request a supplement at meals." The man was already turning his attention to the next client.

Bodie dressed, slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out onto the gravity strip. "Glad he's not my regular. Lovely attentive manner, hasn't he?"

Doyle didn't answer.

"Mad at me? For what? Teasing you? All matches tease. Besides, I was bragging, wasn't I? Not everybody can pull a little raver like you."

Doyle still had nothing to say.

"You're beautiful, but you have no sense of humor," Bodie said, sadly shaking his head. "Just my luck to get hitched to a lad with a temper. Fortunately, you've lovely manners. Wouldn't dare scream at me in public, would you?"

Doyle switched strips, taking a turn and then heading towards an upper level.

"I see we're heading towards the entertainment level. Have a sudden desire to see a show?" Bodie asked.

"I," Doyle said, "am signing up for the educational tour."

Bodie made a face. "You don't want to do that. Very dull stuff, take my word for it."

Doyle found the right section, and joined the line of tourists there.

"Don't do this to me," Bodie said melodramatically, although he kept his voice down.

"You don't have to come," Doyle pointed out reasonably.

"Look funny for me to leave my match on the honeymoon, wouldn't it?" Bodie followed along as Doyle found the right line and joined the end of it. At least half the people in this line wore match ribbons. These were undoubtedly up on one of the overnight excursions, and out to see all the moon sights.

The walls had informational panels about the history of moon exploration, and reproductions of the views outside. They walked thought the large, padded room which featured moon-norm gravity and watched an exhibition of low gravity Wild Ball played on a large court in the same building. The tour ended in a room which featured a professional music rack and dancing.

"This is more like it!" Bodie said, as the music became louder. "They didn't have this the last time I was up here. Come dance, Feather!"

Doyle pulled out of his grasp. "I decline," he said, in frosty tones.

"All the other matches are," Bodie whispered in his ear. "Be fun to try dancing in moon gravity, won't it?" As it seemed that the dancing required a lot of desperate clutching and giggles as one partner or the other applied too much force and caused them both to lurch off center, it was ideal for new matches wanting an excuse to touch in public.

"We have to report," Doyle said, with a nod to the wall panel which displayed the time.

It was true. Bodie said, "On the trip back, maybe we'll have time to do it then." Noticing Doyle's stubborn look, he added, "I have the whole trip to talk you into it, don't I?"

"Your persistent, I'll grant you that," Doyle told him as they headed back to the port level.

"It's one of my most useful characteristics. I'm starving," he added, as they passed a dining room. "I wish they didn't limit us to no food before take off."

Doyle said, "How long before we eat?"

"Well, if they get us on board right away, it will be about an hour from now. We'll hope for the best," he said cheerfully, "the best being, in this case, trays and trays of those little bits of food they serve, where you help yourself to as much as you want."

"You like your food, don't you?" Doyle said, amused in spite of himself.

"Comes of being without it upon occasion. Long hours in--my job," he explained, when Doyle turned toward him, a question on his lips. "Here we are," he added, before Doyle could speak. They joined the end of a short line. Someone stepped in behind them almost at once, and soon they were in the middle of the line of quietly excited people.

They did not board the shuttle at once, but were ushered into a theater, where they sat in comfortable chairs in front of a ceiling to floor screen. When the room was full, a tall woman, wearing the Geode colors, took the speaker's platform at the right of the screen.

"Welcome to the most exciting trip you will ever have," the woman said. "I'm Arra Lee, and I am in charge of passenger welfare on this trip to Mars. I am going to explain the details of Jump travel, and a few of the rules, and then we will board the shuttle, and we can take off. As soon as we're stabilized, we'll eat--I'm sure many of you have been waiting to hear that!" She paused while the polite laughter dwindled.

"We will take about six hours to get out to where the Jump ship, the Geode, waits for us. On the way to the Geode, we'll get acquainted with the other passengers, and there will be more educational lectures. Jump," she said, "is a strange way to travel, as I am sure you have heard. It will seem to you as if the trip lasts only three days, when in fact, it will take a full three to five weeks. Our pilot will explain why the trips never take the same amount of time. Our medical officer will tell you about the physical and mental adaptions which take place, and how best to deal with them. Then we'll hear from a legal representative. Once we board the Geode, there will be a few more explanations and drills, and then we can get under way."

Bodie shifted in his seat until his knee touched Doyle's. Doyle pointedly moved his away, aware of the mirth under Bodie's bland expression. He turned all his attention to the speakers. Always a good student, he found the presentation repetitive. Not all of his attention stayed on the speakers. Some of it remained fastened on the man beside him.

Bodie. No, Bond. Best to think of him as Bond. He thought of last night. Not at all how he expected to spend his match night, with a big, solid lunk like that. At least he hadn't been too obnoxious. No grabbing at him, or making comments about his body, or trying to insist they carry out this farce to the extent of making love together.

The man had a big cock.

Where had that thought come from? Doyle felt his face go red, and was thankful that the lights had been lowered to show a tape of safety practices on board ship. He tried to force his attention on the tape, but it kept sliding back to that odd thought. What did he care what sort of personal equipment the man had? Nothing unusual about it, really. Nothing to do with him.

It was because he was in a situation where sex was on the mind, he told himself. A match trip. Everyone knew how new matches hardly got out of bed the first week. Only logical. If a person followed the government guidelines and had sex only when in a match or seriously considering a match, then of course a match trip was the first chance for unlimited sexual expression.

Not that many people followed the guidelines perfectly. Doyle himself had bedded several dozen women since he had become an adult. He'd used care, of course, following all the safety precautions to prevent disease, and making sure he did not treat his partners casually. Men and women who became promiscuous found themselves registered with the government. The embarrassment of such a thing kept many people honest.

Was Bodie registered? He had an easy attitude towards sex. It would be on his record. The record Doyle had seen at the match had not had that sort of designation mentioned on it, but that record had been for Bond, for a fictitious person. What was on Bodie's real records?

And why did Doyle want to know? It wasn't as if he were really matched with this neanderthal. He wasn't what Doyle wanted--Bodie was not at all like Ann.

Thinking of Ann was a mistake. Ann. He remembered her perfume, remembered what she had felt like in his arms. Under him. Ann had enjoyed what they did in bed. She'd had just enough experience to be comfortable with bedding him and yet not so much that she was not delighted with the things he could teach her. She'd been so startled the first time he'd kissed his way down from her waist to the junction of her thighs. He remembered the silvery sound of her laughter, and the catch in her voice as he touched....

The prod of a hard finger in his ribs brought him to the present. He focused on the screen, realizing they had finally come to the vital information. The glance he shot Bodie's way was not grateful, however.

Bodie didn't seem to mind the poisonous look. He only gave the screen his full attention until they had moved on to less vital facts and figures.

"You always stare off into space like that during vids?" Bodie asked as the lights came up again. "I won't waste my points taking you to first run shows if you do. Could tell you weren't paying proper attention," he admonished.

Doyle gave him a second poisonous look.

"You're beautiful when you're angry," Bodie said, with such artificial fervor that a short laugh was surprised from Doyle in spite of himself, and Bodie wore a satisfied look at having caused it.

"Fond of cliches, Bond?" Doyle asked. "That one's pre-flight!"

"Such an educated thought! But so formal, love? Call me Wil. Just...." He had to stop as the next film began. They were old style presentations, just sight and sound on a flat surface. They didn't hold his attention until the doctor began the one on sex and the Jump process. Beside him, Doyle moved, as if restless, but watched just as avidly as the rest of the audience.

It turned out that no one did anything at all during the process of the Jump itself. It was in the hours before and after that held possibilities. Jump, they discovered, was not an instantaneous process. The fields wound up to Jump point, and then wound down again afterwards. Near to the Jump, and during the Jump itself, perceptions in side the ship were warped and judgement, too. Outside the ship, time and space skipped a beat.

Very clinically, sex during Jump was discussed. Sex in regular zero gee was almost impossible, and even dangerous. The jump field changed just enough of the factors involved so that sex became not only possible, but desirable. The explanation was technical, and Doyle didn't try to understand all of it as the man rattled off the details. All that he needed to know was that they were warned about starting too early or lingering too long over their mutual congress. Warnings would be broadcast during non-safe times, and the walls would have similar messages.

After a series of rather graphic pictures illustrating what might happen to one who ignored these the rules, and showing the procedures for preparing for Jump, the other hazards of the process were listed. At the end, the standard disclaimer, reminding them all that the risk was level ten and that normal insurance packages did not handle that level of risk, was followed by the reminder that the cost of the trip had included special insurance and that the risk percentage was only 5.3.

"5.3?" Bodie sat up at that. Discovering that five people out of a hundred were injured or killed during these trips opened his eyes. Then they narrowed as he considered it. "Wonder how many people turn back at this point?"

"Not very many," Doyle whispered. "Doesn't seem to bother these people at all," he said, with a nod to the crowd.

"Bothers me. If I die, I don't want blip out while floating naked. No dignity to it."

Doyle pursed his lips. "Dignity?" he asked tartly, as if the word was impossible to consider in the same breath as Bodie's name.

"Very dignified, I am. You'll find out." Bodie waggled his eyebrows, earning him a dark look from both Doyle and the next speaker.

At last, however, they boarded the shuttle. At the door they were asked their match number, and for the first time, Doyle recited it off. He almost stumbled over it. He'd been rehearsing saying AH during the last few weeks. Not WB. They went in and strapped down for the take-off. While it was much easier, due to the light gravity of the moon, there was still a few moments of nausea, which recurred after the artificial gravity cut in. Once underway, however, everyone unstrapped and headed towards the buffet laid out on tablets up front.

Bodie attacked it with enthusiasm, piling his tray high, and Doyle found that he, too, was hungry. They returned to their seats and said little at first while the mounds of food disappeared.

"I'll never be able to afford you," Doyle said, when most of the food was gone. "Bet all your pay goes to your stomach."

"A good chunk of it," Bodie agreed cheerfully. "But I've saved enough points to get us a lovely two-room when we get home, don't you worry!"

"Only a two room? Tsk, I've got one of those already!" Doyle protested. It was playing a game, pretending to be actually matched, but it forced him to recall the discussions he's had with Ann. She'd had a three-room, and expected him to move in with her until they could find one even bigger. It had bothered him, and it bothered him even more that he now felt a sense of relief as he realized he did not have to move. He liked his place. He lived near friends and co-workers.

"Do you? Then I'll move into yours. I only have a cell, myself." Cell was slang for a one room place, and it was a common arrangement for singles. At the expression of dismay on Doyle's face, Bodie laughed.

Doyle was ready with a sharp reply, but Arra Lee had stood up and asked for their attention. "We're going to become better acquainted," the woman said brightly. Bodie and Doyle each glanced at the other, sharing a mutual antipathy towards the entire idea. "We have business associates, tourists and, of course, new matches here, all going to the red planet. Now, on the shuttle in to Mars, we'll tell you more about Earth's nearest neighbor, but right now, please turn to your nearest neighbor--now, not your match!--and introduce yourself."

Bodie said something very impolite under his breath, which put a smile on Doyle's face as he turned to the woman beside him. Bodie was forced to turn the other way and greet a large friendly man who introduced himself as Kurt Donely, who had crossed the aisle to have someone to greet.

The lady Doyle spoke to, Talla Dru, in turn introduced her new match, Terry Arello. There was no time to start a conversation, for Arra Lee was asking each person to stand up when introduced. It was a long process, and meanwhile the food was being cleared away, to Bodie's obvious regret.

"Now," Arra Lee said when the last person had stood to be recognized, "We have an exercise unit here. For, your health, we ask that each person put in at least fifteen minutes in the unit during this shuttle trip. You are also urged to attend to any personal exercise regimes you might have. I know room is at a premium, but I'm sure we can accommodate you all. To help you all along, I'll be leading in-place upper body routines in just awhile. Are there any questions?"

"No," Bodie breathed, dripping sarcasm. Fortunately, only Doyle could hear it.

Doyle found himself feeling glad he wasn't really matched to this man; Bodie had serious character flaws. Doyle ignored him and got up and began going through his own series of exercises.

"Give yourself away that way. Pure Pro, those are," Bodie commented as he began his own stretches.

"So? I'm a Pro. No reason to hide that, is there? Your problem, Bond, is you're not used to straightforward situations." Doyle was sweating a little. Artificial gravity, he was learning, was harder on the muscles than the natural stuff. For one thing, it was not an even and steady pull, but a fluxuating one. Too, the gravity was a bit less on the edges of the craft.

Doyle was aware, as he struggled, of Bodie doing his own series of stretches and bends at his side. Fluid motions, but done with a strange precision. Effortlessly, too, damn him.

The instincts of a Pro kicked in, and Doyle thought about Bodie as he moved his body through the familiar routine. Doyle did some of his best thinking while exercising. Was it the increased blood flowing to the brain? Or was it just because as he moved, he had a quiet moment to think, undistracted by job or other outside considerations? At any rate, as he watched Bodie twist and reach, he found his inquisitive mind working on Bodie as if he were a puzzle to be solved. Take all the parts which were Bodie, sort them, and build them into a whole, and what did you have?

CI5 agent. Excellent physical rating--over 97! Travelled, for he'd been to the moon before. Wealth? Some perhaps, given his attitude towards acquiring points, but not rich. Hairless except for his head. No close family connections, although it might be that he had them and just didn't talk about them. Single? Probably, although technically matched at the moment. Doyle took another look at Bodie.

Strange exercises. Not the sort taught in schools. Not the sort taught in the Pro Academy. Sharp. Powerful. The base for a martial art, perhaps. Was this what was taught in CI5? CI5 had special training programs, he knew.

If Doyle's movements were pure Pro, what were Bodie's? Something about the man bothered him. It wasn't necessarily his personality, although that was sometimes difficult to take. It wasn't just one thing, but a combination. Doyle had the feeling there were clues he had missed. Something....

It came to him between one breath and the next, but at first he dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. Just because...but if.... He shook his head again to free it from the confusion of thoughts, and threw himself into his exercises. The work didn't drive the idea from his head, but at least it gave him time to control himself.

Soldier.

He turned the idea around, examining it from all sides. Bodie? A Soldier? It explained so much. Didn't Soldiers have all body hair removed permanently because of those battle suits they trained in? The only reason they kept their head hair was to cushion the battle helmets. They had their own defense training center and were required to always be in good physical shape. Bodie's 97 fitness and health rating came back to Doyle's mind. His own was usually in the 95 range, and he had a pride in his rating which, he had to admit to himself now, had been jolted by hearing Bodie's. But a member of an army unit would get training, and even medical alteration, to bring him--or her--to the peak of ability.

Soldier.

Doyle, along with the rest of society, had mixed feelings about the Army, about soldiers, about the tax money spent to support them, and about the need for them at all. After all, there hadn't been a real war fought on Earth for several hundred years. There was no need for armies any more, and indeed, it was illegal for an individual or a government to support an armed force.

It had also been argued, back at the time of the Last War, that evil as war might be, the skills of it should not be lost. What if we met aliens intent on taking over the Earth, some had argued. Or what if, against all odds, someone did manage to raise an army? Then the earth would be helpless and all lost. Better, it was said, to pass on the secrets of war to a select few, who would in turn pass the information on to the next generation. Strictly monitored, carefully balanced.

He knew that the requirements were stiff, that if a person wished to be a Soldier, they would be tested, both mentally and physically, before they were allowed to even apply. Intelligence, loyalty, practical common sense--all the virtues were there.

Along with the ability to kill.

As a Pro, Doyle knew that the rumor that each soldier, in order to gain rank in the Army, had to kill another soldier, was just that. It persisted despite the constant efforts of the public relations crews to counter it. The truth was, to Doyle's eyes, almost as bad. The mock battles held each year always had casualties. It was the Army's way of testing both their offensive and defensive forces, of testing their medical units, even. But pitting friend against friend, person against person, to the point of death--it was barbaric!

Bodie? A Soldier?

Yet, that made sense. Bodie, working for a security agency, could make use of his Army skills, and be able to take leave for training or the Battle. Too, it was clear that an organization such as CI5 could have a use for a man who could kill. Not necessarily one who would, but one who could.

Kill.

Terrible thought.

People did not kill people any more. Not officially. Doyle, and any Pro, knew there were still murders. He had no illusions about human nature. Once and awhile, jealous rage won out over the training everyone received in childhood. Occasionally, the tests each person took at regular intervals missed the signs of unbalance, and death followed. But not often. When it did happen, the instant retribution of society prevented recurrence. One cup of Wipe, and the mind was a cleared disk. Most of those people were retrained for low level jobs. Or, of course, one could choose the other cup, choose to just go to sleep, forever.

"What's the matter?"

Doyle blinked and looked around. Beside him, Bodie had finished his routine and was staring at him.

"Are you with us?" Bodie asked, giving him a poke in the ribs with one hard finger. Doyle pushed the hand away and scowled. "Have these fits often? You should have warned me before we were matched," Bodie said, sitting down. He wasn't even sweating. Doyle increased his scowl, but latched on that as an excuse.

"You aren't even damp," he complained.

"Told you, you were getting a bargain. I'm perfect, you know. Fine mind, fine body, fine...."

"Ego?" Doyle enquired, too kindly.

"What an old-fashioned word! Still, it's nice to know you've a brain. Well read? Do that much?" Bodie asked.

In fact, Doyle did read more than the average citizen. But confessing to reading would imply that he was studying, that he planned to take the examinations to become a Higher. He wasn't. He read what interested him, for no other reason than that. He just shrugged.

Bodie did not peruse the matter.

"I'm going to the relief station," Doyle said. Bodie stood up as well. "I don't need your help!" he snapped.

"Raymond! They'll think you don't love me! of course I'm going to the station with you!" He winked.

It was what a new-matched couple might do. As it was not polite to kiss in public, many matches went with their other half to the relief room, even if they did not have to 'go'. A piss-and-kiss trip, the crude called it. Doyle did not argue, but concentrated as he pulled himself carefully over to the aisle. Damn the gravity.

There was a line. He hid his annoyance. Bodie stood too closely behind him. At least he didn't try anything once the door closed behind them and they were alone in the small cubicle. Doyle used the unit as if he were alone and Bodie did the same. After emptying their bladders, they cleaned up, wiping down with the medicated air-weave sheets provided. It was awkward in the small room.

The whole place smelled of Bodie, Doyle thought as he watched the other man draw the square of cleaner over his body. Then the room smelled of the chemicals, and Doyle was glad to get out of it.

They were joined at their seats by Talla Dru and Terry Arello, the newly matched pair they had met before. Talla looked a bit like Ann, Doyle realized, although Ann had hair with just a hint of red in it. He imagined, briefly, how it would have been to meet these two with Ann by his side. They'd have made a four and spent time together. He couldn't imagine doing that with Bodie.

"Isn't this exciting?" Terry asked. He was a small man, trim and muscular, who wore a mustache in the newest style.

Bodie made a polite nod, but met Doyle's eye. His glance said that his definition of exciting didn't include exercise and conversation with strangers while in a cramped room, but that he understood the necessity for being polite under the circumstances. It also said he could think of quite a few other things, intimate things, to do which were more exciting. Doyle smiled to show Bodie he understood, then frowned a warning while wondering that he could read so much in a moment of contact with Bodie's eyes.

"I've got a Gameboard, if you'd like to play, later," Terry added hopefully. His match nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm sorry, but we won't be able to play," Bodie said, and only Doyle knew that he was not sorry at all. Bodie leaned closer and whispered, "Can't keep my mind on the game around him," he said, with a nod at Doyle.

Doyle managed a pale smile when two pairs of eyes were turned on him. "Come on, Sweetest," Doyle said, barely keeping the acid out of his voice, and he tugged Bodie away.

When they were almost out of range, he heard Talla complain to her match, "Take a lesson! He knows how to...." The rest of it was lost, but Terry did not look happy.

Bodie said, "Imagine taking up two pounds of your ten pound limit with a Gameboard!" They had returned to their seats and were watching the people.

"Everybody knows someone like that. I've seen people play them on the slipwalks," Doyle answered. "Causes no end of trouble when they block the way."

"Ever see that gent in the green?" Bodie asked, without warning. He was not looking at the person he was describing, who was doing waiting in line to use the exercise unit.

Doyle took the abrupt change of subject in stride. He did not look at the man Bodie indicated. He knew what was meant. "He came up with us on the shuttle yesterday."

Bodie nodded, but added nothing more.

After a minute of silence, Doyle said, "Maybe we should have taken the man up on his offer of a game."

"Nah. That sort--they play Trips or Funny Facts. No fun to it or real skill involved, is there?"

Doyle stared at him. "What game do you prefer?"

Bodie gave him a quick grin, white teeth flashing and his blue eye sparkling, but all between a blur. Doyle scowled. Damn privacy collar. Made it hard to read the nuances. Hard? Bloody impossible.

"Besides bed games," Doyle said disparagingly.

"Poker," Bodie said. "It's an old card game. Pity we didn't bring any cards."

"One of the things you learned in the Army, was it?" Doyle asked mildly. He was rewarded when Bodie went absolutely still.

Eventually, Bodie spoke. "Aren't you the clever lad, then?" he asked softly. But he didn't acknowledge or deny anything, and after a moment he said, "The Geode is the newest of the Jump ships, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Doyle said, although he did. He let his lips turn up in a smile. It was not a nice smile.

"What I wouldn't give for a chance to take that smile off your face," Bodie said in a sexy voice. "I could do it--if you gave me a chance."

"You're trying to distract me. What if I don't let you change the subject?" Doyle asked.

"There's a time and a place for everything. This is our match trip. I'm the one acting just as I should. You're the one who's forgetting," Bodie said, with a superior lift to his chin.

Doyle was going to reply, but Arra Lee stopped before them to ask if they wished to watch the current events program which would be shown in a few minutes. They politely declined, and she moved on. Doyle watched her move away for just a fraction longer than was polite.

"Like her sort? All legs and wiggle?" Bodie whispered crudely into Doyle's ear.

Doyle jerked his eyes away. "That was not a nice thing to say about a citizen," he said evenly.

"I notice you didn't answer me," Bodie said. "I must be a bit of a disappointment, then. What was she like, this Ann? Like that one?" he nodded at Arra Lee.

"No. Shorter. Thin. Good family. Lots of brain." Even as he spoke, Doyle was wondering at himself, not only because he had answered the question but because he had reduced Ann to her basic components so easily. It was a Pros' answer, not a lover's. Feeling he was saying too much, showing too much, he added, "Your opposite in every way, I'd say."

"Ouch!" Bodie said, but he did not seem personally insulted, because he grinned. He started to say something, but then changed his mind. "I have a plan. You watch the people, while I lean back and kip for a bit."

"Sleep? Doyle asked, amazed at the thought.

Bodie nodded, apparently undisturbed at the idea. "I suppose it'd be too much if I stretched out across three of these chairs and used your lap as a pillow? I thought as much," he said, before Doyle had a chance to protest. He yawned, his hand politely up to cover it, and then slumped in his chair, head on his chest.

Doyle, left to his own devices, found he was looking at his fellow passengers to avoid looking at the man beside him. Outrageous behavior! How could he sleep, knowing everyone could look at him? They were, too. He heard the sound of whispering and saw a pointing finger or two. Couldn't really blame others for a minor lapse of manners when his own match was lapsing on a larger scale!

At least there weren't children here. Nor had there been children on the moon. Except for a few youngsters with medical problems, children were prohibited from space travel. The gravity shifts, and especially no gravity situations, damaged bone growth. Doyle didn't miss them. Children were the hardest type of citizens to keep an eye on, and without them, it was easy to watch the public.

The man in the green tunic whom Bodie had pointed out earlier had two companions, both men who were broad and well muscled. They were now seated in an informal circle, so that they could watch most of the room. Doyle had a feeling about them, but it was a feeling he found it hard to pin down.

"They're keeping an eye on us."

It was all Doyle could do not to jump. He hadn't even known Bodie was awake. Bodie stretched and pulled himself upright in his chair.

"When do they bring the food out again?" Bodie asked next.

"We're scheduled for a buffet of light fruit forms just before we board the Geode."

"Better than a hand-held, for providing information, aren't you? Guess I'll keep you," Bodie said. "We'll be one of those pairs the president honors on holidays. Fifty years of bliss, eh?"

"You have a sick mind," Doyle told him.

"We started too late, I suppose," Bodie agreed sadly. "Guess we'll have to go for some other records," he said with a wink.

"Don't you get tired of the juvenile innuendo?" Doyle asked conversationally.

"You don't think I trot out my best lines for just anyone, do you, Sunshine? You should be honored." Bodie leaned forward, making their space seem intimate and small.

Doyle forced himself not to move away. "We'll try to pick you up some better ones on Mars," he said, aware that it was not the wittiest reply he could have made, but aware, too, of the force of Bodie's personality and the strangeness of being the focus of those slightly distorted blue eyes.

"Can't afford it at Mars prices. We'll have to wait until we're back home." To Doyle's relief, Bodie sat up as he spoke, destroying the sense of togetherness.

Arra Lee came up to them. "Have you been to the exerciser yet?" she asked pleasantly.

"We're keeping ourselves at the end of the list," Bodie said smoothly. "High end numbers, you know. It might be necessary for some of the others to have the time. Not so vital for us, since we've done our regular program already."

Arra Lee gracefully sank into the chair nearest them. "Why, how generous of you! It's certainly true that we're running a little behind. I did see you both," she said, letting her appreciation of what she had seen show in her eyes, "exercising. I thought of what a lovely couple you made." She leaned forward a little, and added, "I don't in any way wish to be rude, but the picture would have been just perfect if you weren't wearing a privacy collar, Mr. Bond. Surely the scars can't be that bad now?"

Beside him, Bodie had gone completely still.

"I know the doctors wouldn't have allowed you to come on this trip if your adjustments were recent, so you must be almost healed. Rest assured, if you wish to take the collar off, I'm sure no one will give you undue attention."

"That's very kind of you," Doyle said, when Bodie didn't reply, "but he's promised I get to be the first to see it, and we've planned a little something special for it. You understand. A bit of a party for two, when we get back home."

"He's made himself a new face for you?" She turned, with a combination of awe and just a little amazement in her eyes. "That's sweet! You don't hear of such things, often."

Or never, Doyle thought. What sort of idiot would ask his lover to change something as basic as a face? You fell in love with a package, didn't you, not just one or two aspects of a person? He thought about Ann, uneasily. She'd more than once asked him to consider changing professions. But a job wasn't like a face, not as intimate, he began to think, and then stopped, for he had not convinced himself.

"How in the world can you endure the suspense? Don't you have the impulse to--peek?" Arra Lee was asking.

"I wonder what's under that collar all the time," Doyle said with complete honesty. "But I'm willing to wait. I'm sure it will be worth it!"

"Well, you'll have to take it off during Jump, you know. Will that ruin your plans?" Arra Lee asked.

"He's promised not to look. Besides, he'll have other things to occupy his attention," Bodie joked.

Arra Lee laughed, said she could understand that, traded a few more pleasantries and then moved on.

"Bastard," Bodie said. It was an old word with several meanings, but Bodie's intent was quite clear!

"You never have explained what you hide under there. Or why. Ugly, are you?" Doyle asked, sure that it was not so.

"Quite the opposite," Bodie said smoothly. "For protection, you know. Don't want my beauty to blind anyone. Can't afford to keep paying off the claims."

Doyle snorted inelegantly, grinning at his companion. "I'll take my chances!"

"Oh? What else will you take?" Bodie said suggestively.

"A trip to the relief station. I want to go before the lines start to form. We should be almost to the Geode, by now."

"Let's go, then," Bodie said, standing. He took Doyle by the hand and gave a pull.

"You can let my hand go now," Doyle said dryly.

"Can hardly bear to let you go," Bodie said, but he did release the hand--but not until his thumb had rubbed against Doyle's palm in a disturbingly erotic way.

"Don't start that," Doyle warned automatically.

"It is too public, isn't it? Then I'll wait until we're alone," Bodie promised.

Despite his words, he behaved himself in the small room, not watching as Doyle struggled with the odd plumbing, and using it himself with casual skill. Doyle sourly wondered if there was anything the man couldn't do well. However, he did not feel genuinely threatened or inferior to him, knowing it was a matter of practice in most aspects. Challenged? Was that what it was, how he felt? Lost in thought, he said nothing, and Bodie kept quiet as well.

When they emerged, they discovered the food had been set out, and they joined the line at once. The fruit did not have a particularly authentic look, but the taste was good, and they both went back for seconds when all the others had been through the line once. The crew had scarcely cleared the remains of the food away before the red light started flashing and everyone was asked to take their seats.

Docking was a lengthy process, and so was the transfer to the Geode. The airlock tube was wide enough for only one person to cross at a time. At last, however, they stepped onto the spaceship and were given their room number by a smiling Arra Lee.

The ship was small and cramped by any standards. The gravity strips were primitive, and even Bodie had some difficulty crossing thresholds. It wasn't hard to find their room, however, for it was on the end of the corridor. Their luggage was already there, strapped down in a recess just within the door.

"Love the decor," Doyle commented, for essentially, there was none. All four walls were padded and in pale shades. In space there was no up or down, and so each wall was a different color in order to facilitate references. One wall had a soothing pattern of greens and greys impressed into the padding. Opposite that was a strong cherry color. In turn there was a pale yellow, a pale blue, a delicate peach and a red-brown, upon which they were standing.

"Welcome to your cabin on the Geode," came a warm, female, and pre-recorded voice. "For the first hour, on your blue wall, there will be a travel schedule and the details you will need to know for your comfort and safety about Jump travel. Please become acquainted with them immediately. Voice version available by pushing the gold button at the door. Please push the red button if there is any service you require. Remember, during Jump peak, we will be unable to attend to your needs until the field has relaxed to safe levels. Please enjoy your trip."

Doyle turned to the blue wall and started reading. Ship's schedule...recommended clothing... emergency procedures... food...disposal of containers...entertainment options....

Beside him, Bodie gave a snort of suppressed laughter. Doyle, a moment later, realized what had caused that reaction. There was no relief station. The devices used were much like what babies were wrapped in. Giant nappies!

Doyle bit the underside of his lip and considered. It wasn't the information which gave him pause, but the knowledge that Bodie probably read faster than he did. Unless the stupid sod had just started in the middle? Doyle was a bit proud of his reading. In a society where it was an optional skill--pictures and voice-overs were all that was required in most situations--only the Highers and those who held to old-fashioned ways insisted their children learn it. His reading had been every bit as good as Ann's, and it was one of the things which had impressed her when they had first met.

Bodie's skill didn't impress Doyle as much as annoy him. It had also distracted him, so that he fell even further behind. By the time he finished, Bodie was already following the suggestions for minimal clothing and was slipping off his shoes and stockings and placing them in the pull-out provided.

Doyle did the same, and then stripped off his clothing, leaving on just his underwear. "It does say you'll have to take off all electronic and external devices," he said to Bodie, who was also taking off his outer clothing and putting it away.

"Not until halfway into Jump. Don't be impatient." Bodie was not putting all his effort into his reply, however. He was poking around the storage bins, and then into the food rack. He was frowning, and as the expression deepened, Doyle realized something was wrong.

"What..." he began, just as Bodie spoke.

"These aren't right." Bodie lifted out one of the squeeze bottles from the middle of the rack. He twisted it open and tried it. "Empty."

"All of them?" Doyle asked, coming up beside him and testing one himself. Purple juice bubbled at the tip, but nothing came out.

"Hit the red button, Doyle."

Doyle did, knowing that he would have done it without Bodie's orders, and a little annoyed that it gave the appearance that he was jumping to the other's command.

"Ship central. How may we serve you?" asked a pleasant voice.

"We have a problem with our food supply. Please send someone who can replace all of it." Bodie's voice snapped out, before Doyle could speak.

"Someone will be sent at once!" Click.

"Do you suppose this happens often?" Doyle asked.

"Shouldn't think it could happen at all," Bodie said grimly. "If we'd run out in mid Jump, when no one could bring us more...."

"Dehydration and stress. Not long enough to be fatal," Doyle offered.

"Enough to weaken us. Wonder what else isn't right?" Bodie asked and went back to checking. Everything. Doyle watched him for a moment and then pulled on his trousers again.

"Modest?" Bodie asked.

That was part of it. Doyle just preferred meeting strangers when clothed. But, too, he shared Bodie's sense of unease. Thoughtfully, he checked through his bag, stopping when the buzzer indicated someone wished to enter.

Bodie took over. In tones which would not been out of place from the most arrogant Higher, he pointed out to the man who stepped in what was wrong and demanded it be corrected instantly. The man, Walder Orge, according to the name on his badge, was suitably apologetic. He left at once. Bodie went back to his investigations.

"What an arrogant man you are," Doyle said conversationally when Bodie at last had looked everywhere there was to look, including a check of his own luggage.

"You knew it when you matched with me," Bodie said, but for once, he was not giving much attention to his banter. He looked like he was thinking, hard.

"Oh, yes. But I hope you never make the mistake of talking to me like that," Doyle warned lightly. "I wouldn't like it."

Bodie turned his full attention to Doyle. "I'm sure you wouldn't. Don't worry, sunshine. I know you've a nasty little temper hidden under there somewhere. Knew it the first time I looked into your wicked green eyes. I won't risk the side of your tongue for just anything, I promise you!"

Somewhat taken aback, Doyle just stared at him for a few seconds. Before he could decide just what to say, however, the buzzer sounded again. Walder Orge, along with an unlabeled man in a worker's overall, came in with a box of squeeze bottles. Both Bodie and Doyle watched carefully as the rack was completely refilled with new stock.

"I don't expect to find anything else wrong with the accommodations," Bodie said firmly as the crew members packed up the old items and prepared to leave.

"I assure you, you will not. It was all a careless mistake by some worker, of course," Orge said nervously.

"Perhaps you'd better check everyone's supply," Bodie said, too helpfully. "You'd hate to drive the insurance claims up."

"A good idea. Thank you." The lack of enthusiasm in the voice did not go un-noted by either Bodie or Doyle.

"He doesn't love you," Doyle observed, as the door closed. He grinned. By stating it aloud directly to an employee, Bodie's words had become part of the ship's record, and the insurance people would, of course, expect that the check then be done,

"Can't handle more than you, anyway. I'm trying one of these. If I don't drop down in convulsions, you can have one later." Bodie pulled a bottle randomly from the rack, twisted the tip to open it, and vigorously began to suck it down.

"You seem to have developed a suspicious mind," Doyle said mildly. Slowly, he was taking off his clothing again.

Bodie paused in his drinking "Let's just say I expect this was the only room with that particular problem." He tilted the bottle, squeezing it. Doyle watched Bodie's neck, the part of it not obscured by the privacy collar, and angrily turned his eyes away as he caught himself staring.

Chimes sounded.

"We're underway," Bodie said as he disposed of the container. "Five minutes until the gravity starts to go." He sounded quite pleased. He went to the pull-out and reached in to his bag for his small privacy unit. He flipped it on.

"Why are you...." Doyle wanted to know.

Bodie waved him to silence. When the unit beeped, he nodded. "Just checking to see if there are any other little surprises here. Apparently the room has just normal monitoring, no special listening devices. I'm going to leave this on for awhile, though. It will blink when somebody decides to look or listen in on us."

"Unless someone's tampered with it while it was out of your hands?" Doyle suggested.

"I'd know." Bodie said. Then, he said, "Gravity's starting to go."

Doyle waited with some trepidation. The information on the wall had told him what he needed to know, but he wasn't looking forward to the actual experience. Bodie would know all about it, of course, due to his Army training. Doyle hated the idea of having the other watch his first fumbling efforts.

But it wasn't bad at all. As the gravity bled away, he became gradually lighter and lighter, until his feet left the floor and he was just...there. Tentatively, he reached out and gave himself a push. Odd. He tried it again. Bodie had pulled himself up, out of the way, wordlessly giving Doyle room to learn in. Doyle said thank you with a wave and then laughed as that motion gave him an unexpected spin.

Sometimes bouncing off the padded walls, sometimes catching himself, Doyle lost himself in the experiment, working until he was sure of each action and reaction, until he was panting with exertion and exhilaration. Until he went sailing across the small space, and Bodie did not move out of his way, as he had done before, but caught him in his arms.

Doyle found himself held tight against a broad chest, with arms like steel bands around him, looking up into blue eyes which were not at all laughing. "Trade you a kiss--for showing you how to make that turn," Bodie offered in a low, seductive voice.

Doyle swallowed, hard, not disturbed so much by the offer as by the odd feeling it made in his gut. For just a moment, it sounded like a reasonable trade. He struggled to catch hold of his good sense, and then made a counter offer.

"You can have the kiss--if you take off that privacy collar." He was rather startled when he was abruptly let go, with enough of a push to send him to the opposite wall. Bodie was silent for a full minute, staring at him, with some unfathomable message in his eyes.

Then Bodie said, "Promise?"

Doyle took a deep breath. It wasn't as if he hadn't kissed the man already, at their match ceremony. How bad could it be? He gave into his curiosity. "Yeah. I promise," he said firmly.

Bodie hesit